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’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. ’ ‘Oh, do they?’ Gerald said, sudden wrath kindling. She became more and more alive, not so much to a system of ideas as to a big diffused impulse toward change, to a great discontent with and criticism of life as it is lived, to a clamorous confusion of ideas for reconstruction—reconstruction of the methods of business, of economic development, of the rules of property, of the status of children, of the clothing and feeding and teaching of every one; she developed a quite exaggerated consciousness of a multitude of people going about the swarming spaces of London with their minds full, their talk and gestures full, their very clothing charged with the suggestion of the urgency of this pervasive project of alteration. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago. ” “And he accepted meekly?” “Practically. ” “She doesn’t care for him now?” “Not a bit. ’ ‘You were always someone, Melusine. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. ‘Seems to me like you know just about as much as me. For a short time they allowed me to share the warmth of their lives.
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